Le Nuit
by Amazing-Daine
Summary: and in an instant she was gone. miss cecilia northwood & mr tom riddle


**_le nuit  
chapter the first_**

It was never something he had intended on doing, falling in love with her. In fact, the thought now gave him great disgust. He stared down at a piece of marble set unmoving in the frozen earth, snow blurring the name, date, loving inscription. He didn't need to see the words he knew were there.

**Cecilia Aurelia Northwood  
****1930 – 1952  
****Loving Daughter & Dear Friend**

No cause of death, nothing to indicate the twisted last few years of her life. But he didn't need a gravestone to remind him of that. No, in fact he began to chuckle at how well he remembered. Had he really loved her? He had known better. But she was gone from his mind now. He no longer heard her screams at night, or saw her eyes full of fear in his dreams. He had known better.

"My Lord?" a raspy voice whispered from somewhere behind him.

A light snow had begun to fall, and the tall man with ebony hair and elegant features turned slowly to his servant.

"Yes, Wormtail?" his voice was surprisingly warm and soft, almost as if he was enchanting those he chose to speak to.

"It's, it's g-g-growing late my Lord…"

"Afraid of the dark, are you Wormtail?" the lips that had emitted the soft words curved upward in a mirthless smile.

"Oh, no my Lord, I, and I j-j-just…"

"Come along," he said, tone tinged with annoyance.

And with one sweeping movement, the two figures disappeared from the hillside. The marble gravestone was left alone and untouched in a silent snowfall, to be forgotten by love forever.

* * *

Christmas morning dawned bright and clear and Cecilia Aurelia Northwood woke with a start. Her eyes darted about the room, the beginnings of a headache pounding at the edges of her skull. She looked to the other side of the bed upon which she lay, and her eyes widened.

"Shit."

She tore furiously at the sheets that had entangled themselves in her limbs, and searched frantically for her clothes.

"Ceci?" a groggy voice whispered from somewhere in the mass of sheets.

"Shit."

She tore at every piece of furniture until she unearthed an evening dress, a bra, and a pair of underwear. Thrusting the clothes on her body, she began to overturn boxes and papers in search of a pair of black heels.

"Ceci, what are you doing?" the voice was deep and male and depressingly familiar to her ear.

She uttered a cry of frustration and raked a hand angrily through her hair. Where in the hell were her shoes? The door. She had taken them off by the door. Or had she? The headache was beginning to penetrate her senses. Rushing to the door, she breathed a sigh of relief as she found what she was looking for. Making sure her wand was tucked safely inside a fabric pocket on the inside of the dress just as the night before, she disappeared with a crisp _pop_.

The nineteen year old witch found herself in the safe confines of her room.

"Thank Merlin," she breathed, sinking heavily into a chintz chair.

It hadn't been her fault really. Simply because James Sawyer Shevington was the best looking boy at the party, and the rest of the guests had consisted of stuffy old couples sipping champagne and speaking of the world war that had left both muggles and wizards in a frenzy. Simply because he was capable of giving just the perfect dashing smile and just because his hand had slipped so easily around her waist. It wasn't really her fault. Of course she really should show a bit more restraint when it came to things like this. She didn't sleep with everyone she met of course, but she was easily swayed by an "I love you Ceci." And he had known it.

"Fuck…" she sighed, holding her head and recalling what she'd done.

They'd be angry. They were always angry where she was concerned. She loved them, but they found her a continual frustration. And not without reason. She was quite capricious, and enjoyed lying a bit too much. She was far from what they desired in a youngest daughter, but at least she cleaned up for social functions. Quite well, to their relief.

"Miss Ceci?"

"Oh Merlin."

"Miss Ceci the parents are expecting you soon. They is very mad you has stayed out all night."

"Thank you Trix," she called through the door to the wide-eyed house elf that stood on the other side.

The door opened a crack and the young creature shuffled in, fresh linens in hand.

"Silly Miss," she muttered, setting about changing the sheets on the freshly made bed. "You is always out too late. You should be at home with the parents eating supper and meeting what nice boys they bring home. Begging your pardon miss, you knows I mean nothing but niceness."

"Yes yes, I know Trix," she sighed again, glancing about the room without rising. "What shall I wear?" she mused absentmindedly.

"Something modestly," Trix piped up. "They is very very angry miss."

"Oh, they're always angry," she pouted, standing lazily and throwing open the doors to her wardrobe.

She let her fingers drift listlessly over the layers of fabric before wrenching a garment from the tightly packed boudoir. Carelessly throwing off the dress she had retrieved from a chair only 30 minutes previous, she shimmied into a modest red outfit—she smoothed the fitted bodice and swirled the pleated bottom half with a smile. Removing her shoes, she sauntered to her vanity, fixing her curled brown locks, and placing a golden chain about her throat that fell just above the dress's rectangular neck line.

"How's this Trix?" she asked, slipping on a pair of recently shined white pumps.

The little house elf stopped in the middle of removing a pillow case and surveyed her mistress critically.

"You needs a shawl miss," she replied after a moment, returning to her chore.

"You're probably right," Ceci sang, sashaying to a chest of drawers and drawing a thin white shawl from its depths. "Shall I go down now?"

"As soon as you wishes miss," Trix nodded with a pointed look.

The somewhat carefree young sorceress made her way across her bedroom, and with a reassuring glance from Trix, pushed her door open and directed herself towards the manor's formal sitting room. It was large, this home. The walls were paneled with the finest of woods, and her hand settled on the centuries old banister as she descended the grand staircase. As she passed an enchanted mirror she flashed it a quick grin.

"Looking lovely," a cockney accent affirmed.

"I know," she replied with an unaffected wave of her hand.

She fairly floated down the rest of the stairs, turning sharply to her left and entering a grandiose room, filled with antique items and cast into a shadow of regal decay by the heavy red velvet curtains. On an impeccably furnished straight back sofa sat a couple, looking as if they had been painted into the scene. The woman was beautiful. Gwendolyn Northwood. Her raven hair, red lips, and porcelain skin gave one the impression she was really a china doll. Beside her sat a most handsome older man. His hair was graying slightly, his brilliant blue eyes penetrating the soul of anyone who was caught by his gaze.

"Mother dear," she swept to her mother's side and placed a kiss lightly on her cheek. "Father," she turned to the man, executing the same customary buss.

"Cecilia," Jasper Northwood nodded in his daughter's direction. "Sit."

Gracefully placing herself on a chaise lounge opposite, she smiled.

"Did you enjoy the festivities last night?" she asked easily. "They had quite a lovely tree this year, didn't they? Oh, the Shevington's really do know how to throw a pleasant party. We must have them for dinner soon."

"No magic for a week," her mother said crisply, not acknowledging that Ceci had spoken.

Her head turned sharply toward her mother, lips falling into a pout, eyes beginning to glisten with tears.

"Oh mother-" she began to argue.

"Silence," an elderly voice resounded throughout the room. "You will do as you are told."

Ceci immediately sat up a little straighter, placed her hands obediently in her lap, and erased any trace of a tantrum.

"Yes Gran," she whispered submissively.

The sharp sound of shoes clicking against solid wood met her ears and she cringed with each step. Turning slightly, Ceci caught sight of Evangeline Northwood, her father's mother, a woman of great power and importance in both her family and the entire of the wizarding community in England. She stood taller than most her age, her perfectly white hair tied back in a well kempt bun, dress impeccable. An elegant hand was extended in her direction, and Ceci balefully produced her wand.

"Thank you," was the frighteningly calm reply to her action.

"May I go out?" Ceci asked just as her grandmother began to turn.

"Where?"

"Walking."

"With whom?"

"Alone."

"No."

She clenched her teeth as the imperious woman exited the room.

"I shall expect tea at four o' clock," she called to no one in particular, though Ceci fully comprehended her meaning.

"Is she going to send me away?" she asked her parents after a few moments.

"She would like to," her father responded.

"Are you going to let her?" her voice rose a fraction.

She had been sent away before, always to horrible places. The first time was the summer preceding her sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Russia was the chosen destination, as a group of pureblooded elderly women with whom her grandmother was acquainted lived in a secluded, snow ridden peak far from any sort of civilization. All but one (who spoke only Russian) had taken a vow of silence forty-three years before. Perfect hell.

The second was the following summer to a cloistered group of poor pureblooded Albanian farmers.

"Charity to those of lesser means and equal status is necessary to appreciate your standing in this world," her grandmother had said.

Waking as soon as the sun rose to feed chickens and milk cows and tend a dying garden, Ceci hadn't really appreciated the fact that she was pureblood, just the fact that she wasn't poor. Perfect hell.

The final time had been the previous winter. Disgusted once more with her granddaughter's rash behavior Evangeline had arranged for Ceci to live with a family of relatively wealthy pureblooded Germans in Berlin, volunteering around the city in an effort to help clean up the aftermath of the war that had officially ended four years previous.

"We're thinking on it," her father replied coolly.

"What?" she demanded, voice rising in pitch and posture becoming rigid. "Again? I am nineteen years old! I do not deserve to be treated as a child!"

"You live under my roof," Jasper continued calmly. "You are _my_ child, and you will do as I say. There is a couple living in Iceland who is quite willing to-"

"Iceland?" she shrieked. "You would send me to Iceland? Mother please! Tell me he's jesting! Father, you surely can't mean you would send your only daughter away again! To Iceland!"

"Cecilia, calm yourself. You're acting foolishly," Gwendolyn spoke sternly and the look in her eyes told Ceci that the conversation was finished.

She bit the inside of her cheek angrily and crossed her arms in a huff. Iceland.

"When?" she asked shortly, eyes cast moodily downward.

"Two weeks time."

"For how long?"

"As all the other times," her father interjected, more gently this time.

Ceci's eyes darted about the floor, tears threatening her composure. Three months. Perhaps more. No less. Not even for good behavior.

"What are they like?"

"Friends of your grandmother's. Pureblooded. They own a rather expansive stretch of land , a home of some merit. They are wealthy."

This was too good to be true. No farm, no vows of silence, no community service to be done- the war hadn't reached Iceland. What where they playing at?

"They have a daughter around your age."

She sat stonily. There must be a catch of some kind.

"As well as eight younger children."

Her breath caught in her throat. Babysitting. A nanny. Eight spoiled brats to look after with a girl her own age that would most certainly be as much of a nuisance as her siblings. There was her catch. Being the youngest in her family had had advantages. She had never been forced to watch over a younger brother or sister the way her older brothers had. She was never asked to look over a brood of bratty children while her parents did as they pleased.

"Eight?" she whispered angrily, fists clenched. "Eight children in _Iceland_?"

"Tell Trix what you would like packed. You are not to leave the grounds for the next two weeks. You are dismissed."

Ceci stood mechanically, accustomed to dismissals, and, shawl wrapped tightly about her frame, swept from the room. She made her way across the house to the kitchen and stormed through, knocking several bowls to the floor in her rage. She burst through the back door that led to the gardens and the rest of the grounds. A light layer of snow still clung to the path and plants, her footsteps muffled by the fluffy flakes.

"Iceland?" a deep voice asked, slightly amused.

Ceci's head shot up, a ghost of a smile already tugging at her lips.

"They're certainly beginning to pick the most interesting places for you dear."

She looked around, the grin broadening when she picked out a suave figure sitting on a bench in one of the gardens.

"Brax!" she cried happily, rushing to him as he stood and twirled her in his arms. "Thank Merlin you're home! When did you get back?"

Braxton Jasper Northwood was tall and dark and handsome and loved his little sister dearly. At the age of 25, Braxton was the eldest of the Northwood children, and had moved out some years ago, visiting only on New Year's Day, Easter, and occasionally Christmas. He was always busy with work, though no one knew quite what that was, and his appearance at home always put everyone in a good mood- even Evangeline. He was the prodigal son, perfect in every way, and was getting married in a few months time to an upstanding young lady of pristine breeding.

"Only just," he replied, placing a loving kiss on her forehead before setting her down. "Passed Gran on her way out. Tea at four and Iceland in two weeks with eight kids to look after. My little apple seems to have done something really awful this time," he was grinning. He was always grinning.

"James Shevington," she replied ashamedly. "Stayed out all night and look what they do. Though I suppose that wasn't the only indiscretion. Can't quite remember the rest, but then again, they enjoy sending me away now, don't they?"

Brax threw his head back and laughed heartily, pulling her close and steering her towards the forest that covered half of their land. It really was a lovely place.

"They don't enjoy it apple, they just think it's what you need."

"Do you think it's what I need?"

"No," he said after a moment. "What you need is a shot of firewhiskey and a job. Or a man. Take your pick."

This time Ceci only smiled half-heartedly. It was the truth. Braxton always had a way of telling things bluntly, but at the same time disguising them in a mask of carefree goodwill. She needed an occupation. Or a marriage proposal. Soon. Her parents were continuing to find her a nuisance simply because she was not yet out of the house. It had been easier with the boys. They had all found themselves lovely jobs and lovely girlfriends and lovely homes not too far off (except for Braxton of course). They had done as they were told and only once had Bertrand ever needed to be sent away as she had.

Braxton took note of her pensive nature and turned the conversation.

"Are Bert and Bruce home yet?" he asked good-naturedly.

"They're coming tonight for dinner," she replied absent-mindedly. "I think Bert is bringing Lucinda."

"Lovely girl," her older brother mused. "Bit on the boring side though, isn't she?"

"All she ever does is go on about dress patterns," Ceci found the grin back on her face.

"And how wonderful old Bertie looks in his newest suit."

"I don't know how he can stand her. Speaking of fiancées, is Arabella here?" she asked, referring to Braxton's bride-to-be.

"Coming later this afternoon. She had to clear up a few things with her family first- apparently they have gifts for her and I and aren't entirely sure what to do with them if we're not spending the holiday evening at their house."

Arabella was rather impressive. 23 years. Just inches shorter than her fiancée, she was tall and thin, with silken blonde hair and kind blue eyes. She was beautiful and charming and graceful and she and Braxton were madly in love. It always seemed to work out well for him. Ceci was jealous of them both. Brax was perfect, and Arabella was stealing away the only semblance of stability and affection she had ever known.

"What a paradoxical situation," she giggled.

"Oh come off it apple," he laughed again. The safe laugh. "Come on, you've forever till you have to meet with Gran and I want to know everything that's been happening."

The happy pair wound their way throughout the extensive grounds and laughed as they had since they were children. It was always lovely when Braxton came home.

"Miss Ceci!" a shrill voice pierced the air hours later. "Miss Ceci it's nearly four of the clock! Mistress Evangeline is expecting yous soon Miss Ceci!"

She let out a most unladylike groan of disgust and rolled her eyes, burying her head in Braxton's chest.

"It's alright," he reassured her, hugging her close. "I'll come along."

She looked up at him and smiled, placing her arms firmly about his neck as he spun her childishly on the spot.

"Why are you so lovely?" she asked, placing a platonic kiss on his cheek.

"Because I've got someone to be lovely to," he replied, chuckling. "Come on, let's go enjoy Christmas tea. And when Bruce and Bert get here, we'll sneak the dinner and escape to the roof. Sound good?"

She smiled at their childhood past time. Fancy dinners were only tolerated for so long by the four Northwood children, and after they had made their appearances, they crept atop the manor and sat gazing for hours at the sky.

"Perfect," she smiled.

* * *

author's note: i do so hope you enjoyed my latest installment! it has been an awfully long time.


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